‘Out of sympathy for the Emperor Napoleon, my hinny.’
‘What?’
‘When Napoleon was returning home from one of his many campaigns and looking forward to bedding his Josephine, he would send her a message, “ne te lave pas,” or, in plain English, don’t wash your parts. He liked her very ripe, you see. And on that evening you were rather well scented yourself. I found it very stimulating, and naturally I thought of Josephine.’
‘That’s the most disgusting thing I’ve ever heard.’
‘Yes, I’d write a song about it if I thought it would get past the censor. It would do for the penny gaffs, though. The coarser the better for the roughs.’
When carnal appetite was utterly satiated, he would accompany her on the piano whilst she practised her songs, occasionally making corrections or suggesting improvements. He was a discerning critic, and she respected his judgement. As soon as she had Daisy’s songs off, he got her a booking at one of the minor halls on a couple of pounds a week. She was a hit, and other better engagements followed. He decided she must have more songs now she had the money to pay for them, and he bought some promising new ones.
‘The trick is to get the women to like you and to arouse the men. I’m sure you do that already to a degree, but we could improve on it,’ he said thoughtfully one morning, resting his hands on the piano keys after taking her through a new number. ‘You must study some of the experts. We’ll go to the Empire Promenade after the matinee, to see the fast women.’
Ginny hung on to Charlie’s arm, watching the scene intently. ‘I can’t believe any of these women are prostitutes, Charlie.’
‘Astounding, aren’t they?’ He smiled, with an almost proprietorial pride. ‘Utterly magnificent. But tell me, hinny, what did you think a prostitute was?’
‘I don’t know. Not like these, looking so well-dressed. Looking like ladies. I can’t believe there’s one of them a prostitute.’
‘Your Methodist teachers might encourage you to imagine such women poor, shabby, degraded creatures and that may be true of those who tramp the docks and the back streets, to service sailors and other riff-raff. But think of it, Ginny. The women here attract the interest of the best men in society who can pay high prices for their services. Cultured men such as myself, who require cleanliness and beauty at the least, preferably accompanied by a degree of intelligence and refinement. How could they attract such clients if they were dirty and dishevelled?’
‘They couldn’t, Charlie, but they don’t go near any men.’
‘No. They seldom accost one and never, ever importune.’ They came to an empty table. Charlie pulled out a chair for her and then sat down himself. ‘But a man may take his pick. Observe them well.’
She did, and saw no trace of wretchedness. The women seemed to brim with self-confidence. Some were arrogant, if anything, and moved to and fro in a smooth, graceful fashion. There was no vulgar laughter or loud chatter, and their manners were excellent.
‘See, they’re very well behaved. One complaint to the management, and they’re barred. All types for all tastes, from the majestic to the demure, from the bold to the modest. Human merchandise. This is the white slave trade, Ginny, that the morality mongers would love to put a stop to, but as long as the commercial value of the courtesan is at least four times that of the honest servant girl, they have little hope of success, I’m happy to say. Our gentlemen must have their pleasures.’
She felt his eyes upon her as she watched the scene, caught a glimpse of his lazy, mocking smile.
‘Take note of the way they move. That’s what I want you to mimic on stage, just sometimes, when it matches your song.’ He was suddenly alert. ‘Now look at that one over there. She looks very haughty, doesn’t she? One might almost take her for a duchess. But watch.’ He discreetly beckoned a tall, aloof, blonde woman. With the slow but dignified gait of a caged tigress, she approached the table. He did not invite her to sit down, but kept her standing beside him.
‘Ginny the hinny, meet Charlotte the harlot,’ he said, eyes twinkling and lips curving at his own wit.
Ginny flushed and felt a stab of panic. The expression on Charlotte’s face reminded her of her mother after she’d received that vicious kick on Christmas Eve. She had an impulse to jump up and comfort her, but only murmured, ‘For shame, Charlie.’
‘Shame, hinny? Not at all,’ he said softly, ‘the word has little meaning either for Charlotte or for me. Wouldn’t you agree, sweetheart?’
Charlotte tilted her chin and looked away, a picture of careless pride. ‘If you say so, Charlie.’
He nodded his approval. ‘She is magnificent, isn’t she, Ginny? She’ll be a duchess yet. Gentlemen occasionally marry their courtesans, and I entertain high hopes for Charlotte. With her special talents, she’s well fitted to become a member of the aristocracy. How are you faring, Charlotte? I hope you’re keeping enough company.’
‘Enough.’
‘I’m very pleased for you. I hope you don’t mind our speaking to you like this. Ginny is a provincial girl. I’m trying to educate her in the ways of the world.’
‘I’m glad to have been of service to you both.’
‘Thank you, Charlotte. Apply yourself to your trade, my dear, and you are certain to do well from it,’ said Charlie.
Thus dismissed, Charlotte walked majestically away. Deep suspicions crowded into Ginny’s mind.
‘Did you buy her a ring, Charlie?’
He burst out laughing. ‘No, my clever little hinny, I assure you I did not. She lived in my house and we enjoyed each other’s company for a time, but she saw the benefits of the trade she now plies, so it ended between us. Charlotte is a mistress of her art, and certain to give satisfaction to her many admirers. I keep a friendly eye on her. See how magnificently she’s dressed. No threadbare coats or mended boots for Charlotte. She demands everything of the best, and she deserves it for the pleasure she gives.’ He gave Ginny a long, speculative stare. ‘I wonder which style would come most naturally to you, my hinny? Proud, merry or demure?’
‘I could never do what she does, Charlie. I could never parade myself, waiting to couple with any man that wanted to give me a shilling.’
‘Nonsense. You can do it with me, with enjoyment. It’s very little different with others, and you could command much, much more than a shilling, I assure you.’
Her answer was swift and direct. ‘I’m not doing it, Charlie. I’m never going whoring. Never. You’ve made me do a lot of things I never should have done, but you’ll never make me do that. I would rather do away with meself than do what Charlotte does.’
He raised his eyebrows. ‘Going whoring? Filthy-spoken girl, to use such disgusting language. You insult me, Ginny. I am a civilized man. I have never suggested any woman do any such thing.’
She looked him directly in his cold blue eyes, determinedly fixing his gaze. ‘Aye, well, I’m glad of that, because I won’t. And if you try to make me, I will do away with meself, but not before I’ve done away with you. And when we’re both dead, the constable can do what the hell he likes about it.’
Chapter 15
Ginny thought she must have misjudged him. During the following months he was the old Charlie, the clown who played the fool and made her laugh. All kindness and consideration, he seemed as keen as she to further her artistic ambitions. He attended to all the dealings with theatre managers, he arranged bookings, he negotiated her fee and her place on bills, he bought songs, paid taxes and a thousand other things that Ginny was incapable of managing. She was paid on Friday nights and she handed her money directly to Charlie. There were so many expenses associated with the performer’s life, he said, that there was never any money left to speak of, and Ginny readily conceded she was only an ignorant girl and had no head for business or the keeping of accounts.
He took her to a dressmaker and had more stage clothes made. He ordered presentable afternoon and evening clothes to ensure that she would do credit to him on their outings
together. He chose her underwear and night attire, and she yielded to his better taste and judgement. He would allow her to do no housework. He had servants for that, and she must remember she was no housemaid now. Her hands were soon a lady’s hands, as soft and well-manicured as his. She was entirely free to concentrate on her art, and on pleasing him. Apart from a rigorous rehearsal of those barely perceptible yet instantly recognizable gestures which would enhance one or two of her songs, there was no further mention of the ladies of pleasure. He was besotted with her, he said, how could she imagine he would countenance the thought of her being with any other man?
‘Marry me then, Charlie. I’m old enough now.’
‘Not yet. I must bring Helen round to the idea first. That will be much easier when you’re an established artiste, with a good income. These things do matter among the more well-to-do, Ginny, mercenary though that may seem to you.’ He played a few bars more before continuing. ‘So I’m very relieved to see that your monthlies have been regular so far. When are you due again?’
‘In a week.’ She said it without a blush. Charlie had taken her virginity and he knew her inside out; he had made every particle of her his own property. She almost felt she belonged to him more than she belonged to herself.
‘I thought so. Be a good girl and remind me at once if they’re late. A child would be a real obstacle to your career, and it would put an end to any idea of my marrying you. Luckily I know a very discreet lady who can deal with such inconveniences.’ He threw himself into the jaunty tune again with enthusiasm.
‘Inconveniences?’
‘Late monthlies, hinny. We must take care they arrive on time, or as near as possible, then you won’t be troubled with children.’
Another thing puzzled her. ‘Why should me having your child stop us getting married?’
Charlie stopped playing, very patient with her naivety. ‘My sweet little hinny, in the sort of society Helen and I aspire to, certain things are done, and other things are not done. Marrying a woman who has borne a child out of wedlock is certainly not done. A man would be taken for a fool. But these matters needn’t trouble you. If you’re overdue you’ll tell me, and the matter can be resolved with very little difficulty. You will promise me that, won’t you, hinny? It’s for your own good, you know.’ She nodded. ‘That’s my good little hinny. Come now, we’re wasting time. You’ve done very well at the Athens, and Sun Palace, and the Wilkins. I was very proud of you; but the West End is quite another thing. It’s the Mecca of all good artistes. We must have you rehearsed to perfection before you appear there.’
Charlie was right, as always. On her opening matinee at the Arena, the music hall profession was gathered in full force to criticize this new find. The hall was packed, the men, as usual, standing round the bar, their wives and partners seated in the stalls, ready to pick every conceivable spot off her performance. Charlie was with her in the dressing room as she made the last-minute adjustments to her dress.
The callboy rattled on her door. ‘Five minutes to go, Mrs James.’
Ginny dabbed away the moisture from her top lip, then lifted her foot on to the chair and leaned forward to tie up a trailing boot lace.
‘Are you nervous?’ He placed his hands on her hips as she bent over.
‘Terrified,’ she admitted, and then felt him lift her skirt.
‘Come on, my hinny, just a little tickle. Keep still for Charlie,’ he insisted, holding on to her, with his foot jammed against the closed door.
‘Stop it, Charlie. You must be mad,’ she hissed, yet he had her well enough disciplined to make no attempt to break free from him.
‘Keep still, sweet. If you struggle, it will take longer, and make enough noise to let everybody know what you’re doing, and you wouldn’t like that. Be very still and quiet and it will be our little secret,’ he murmured.
‘The chair’s wobbling,’ she said, in an agony of nervousness.
‘Then hold on to the back and keep it still.’
She’d had her last call before he was finished with her. He pulled down her skirt and gave her a slap on her haunches to send her chasing out of the dressing room. The opening bars of her introductory music were being played for the second time before she bounded on to the stage, flushed and unfulfilled. Her performance did not suffer. She was full of zest, suggestive, saucy, laughing. Her vivacity, and something of her animal spirits transmitted itself to the audience. They sat up and took notice.
Once her act was finished she was off the stage in a trice, ignoring calls for an encore. ‘Always leave them wanting a little bit more,’ she whispered to herself, repeating advice given to her by many artistes, ‘and that’s how you’ve left me, Charlie.’ She went directly back into the dressing room, impatient to find him and make him finish for her what he had started. Of course, he was gone. She removed the greasepaint and changed her dress, and went to the saloon. He was exactly where she had anticipated, propping up the bar with a group of other fellows.
He hailed her. ‘Come and join us, Mrs James. Have a drink with some of your critics.’
She approached them, eyes sparkling and a smile on her lips, still in a state of high excitement. ‘No thank you, I’ve another performance tonight. Was I all right?’
‘Well, one of our number thinks your voice can’t last, you don’t use it properly, another thinks you can’t dance, but the only fellow whose opinion is worth a bean is our celebrated Signor Morales here, and he, well, tell her what you think, Signor.’
‘I think your detractors are all poor judges, Mrs James. Your act is a little rough, and you’ve a long way to go, that’s evident. But you’ll cover that long way pretty quickly, in my opinion. With the right material and more polish, you could have some big hits.’
‘Don’t you like the songs I’ve got, Mr Morales?’
He shrugged, pausing to remove a flake of tobacco from his lip. ‘They’re well enough. But get one of the best songwriters and have some specially written for your own voice. You’ll find it a good investment. You might make music hall history.’
She flushed with pleasure and beamed from ear to ear.
‘Charlie, I can scarcely believe that girl’s eighteen,’ said another man. ‘Close to, she looks quite a child.’
‘Oh, I know nothing of the matter, I assure you,’ said Charlie. ‘How old are you, Mrs James?’
‘You should never ask a lady’s age, Mr Parkinson,’ Ginny reproached him. ‘It’s simply not done.’
‘You see?’ shrugged Charlie, amid a chorus of laughter.
She was always nervous before going on, but the memory of Charlie’s doings with her in the dressing room and the approval of Signor Morales alleviated the feelings of complete terror and carried her through the evening performance. She gave one encore, then joined Charlie to spend the rest of the evening with the audience at the bar. Most of the comments they heard about her act were complimentary, and they returned home triumphant.
‘You know, I do have the most astounding good luck. I desire you and, though all seems hopeless at the time, a few weeks later, here you are, fallen into my hands as ripe as a little plum. Not only that, but a few short months afterwards I’ve made you a success on the halls and you’re almost earning your own keep,’ he observed as they lay side by side in bed that night.
‘And I always said I wanted a lucky man, but I don’t really feel as if I’ve got you, Charlie.’
‘You have more of me than any woman before you. And you have a share of the luck, my hinny. I’m an excellent manager and agent. I’ve advanced your career further than you could have dreamed of. I’ve made you famous.’
‘Yes, you have, and I’m grateful, Charlie, but I wish you’d marry me. I’m old enough now. I don’t like living in sin like we do. It’s not right.’ A sudden thought struck her. ‘Did you tell any o’ those men at the bar what we did in the dressing room this afternoon?’
‘Certainly not,’ he protested, ‘I fancy myself a gentleman, and gentlemen do n
ot betray any little intimacies they may indulge in with the ladies.’
She felt reassured. ‘I’m glad of that, anyway,’ she said. But the thought of the dressing room would not leave her mind. She reached out to touch him, and the part she held became swollen and hard in her hand.
‘You insist on an encore,’ he said, ‘and I’m ever your slave.’
She laughed, and without prompting sat astride him to impale herself.
‘What a saucy, naughty, shameless little trollop it is.’
She saw him laughing up at her in the lamplight as she began to rise and fall upon him and something about the laugh irked her. Her slave nothing, when he denied her respectability, validity in the eyes of society, the things she wanted most from him. He was her master. She knew it, and she also knew that his corruption of and dominion over Arthur Wilde’s daughter provided the best part of his pleasure with her. She laughed in return, and looking down at him thought how easy it might be to put her hands around his neck in this position and squeeze and squeeze until she had stilled that deceitful mouth and choked off that triumphant smile for ever. She said nothing for a while, then asked, ‘How much money are they paying me at the Arena, Charlie?’
‘At a time like this, Ginny? Women and money! Save business ’til the morning, do.’
‘No, how much though? I want to send some home. Our Emma wants to be a teacher. I could send enough to make her a teacher, couldn’t I?’
‘You must cut yourself off from the people at home, for many reasons.’
‘I can’t do that, Charlie. I love them.’
A Sovereign for a Song Page 15